


Words Are Like All The Wrong Steps We Take

by ArtChew



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: F/F, Female Relationships, Friendship, One Word Prompts, Will most definitely develop into more, probably there will be angst and hurt/comfort later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtChew/pseuds/ArtChew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-word prompt Ameri!Kate short fics. Set mostly after the 2013 Young Avengers run. Probably random interludes of flashbacks and future jumps. It's gonna be a fun ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Defenestration

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to take some one-word prompts over on my tumblr [art-chew.tumblr.com] . Planning on keeping each piece at 700-1000 odd words , while I work on some longer things on the side. Prompt me with your own words! It'll be fun.

**Defenestration:**

**_1\. a throwing of a person or thing out of a window_**

**_2\. a usually swift dismissal or expulsion (as from a political party or office)_**

________ 

Sometimes, you just gotta throw the bad guys through a window.

But before all of that, before the superhero stuff here, they were having a fight of their own. The good guys. Over noodles.  


It started with a mouthful of blurted honesty, as most of America’s fights often did.  


“I think he’s dragging you down, _chica_. He’s not good for you. The boy needs to learn to sort his own shit out, you know? Except it’s like… he’s not gonna do that if he knows you’re always three steps behind him with the broom sweepin’ up after him. Huh?” She was pretty proud of that analogy, if truth be told.  


And the infuriating thing about it was, she did know. She knew perfectly well. She’d even known for a while now. Perhaps had always known it. She just hadn’t admitted to it herself out loud yet. And she didn’t think she was ready to do that. Not right now, in this very instance anyway. Not when, just ten minutes prior, they’d been contemplating hitting the arcade together to gatecrash the dance matts. So instead she took her trepidations and her embarrassment out on the person trying to help her. The one she’d just been thinking of going to town with. On the dance matt…  


“You think I’m easy? That I’m just letting people use me, letting Clint use me? I’m not stupid America. I’m not a kid. I don’t let people walk all over me.”  


America grunted as she nipped at her noodles with her chopsticks. “Never said you were stupid, Kate. I just…” She went quiet, and covered it up by shovelling food into her mouth. But she couldn’t avoid the glower emanating from the other side of the table.  


“You just what? You think I’m a chump? He’s a friend. That’s what friends do for each other. They’re just there for them, when the shit hits the fan and all that… metaphoric crap, you know? Or maybe you don’t. I mean, when do you ever stick around for more than five minutes in one dimension anyway?”  


America’s cheek twitched. She had her mouth open for food, but her chopsticks froze half way. So did Kate, in utter mortification.  


“America…. shit, I’m sorry.”  


She put her chopsticks down. Let the noodles fall messily back into the bowl. Pressed her palms into the table and stood.  


“You know what. Forget this. Of all people, I didn’t think I had to explain myself to you. I thought you got it. And I’m not your enemy here, princess. But I’ll let you figure that out on your own, eh.”  


And that’s when America got punched in the face.  


It might as well have come from thin air, it was so damn fast, and America would be lying if she said she didn’t take half a second to admire the speed of it. But then her jaw began to hurt, and suddenly she exploded with rage.  


Kate jumped up. It took herself half a second to recognise the burgundy and yellow tracksuits, the guys that had it in for Clint. The Russian mobsters… or whatever they were. Had they gone insane? Or more appropriately to ask, what had Clint done now? How the hell were they suddenly involved in this shit?  


Then there was a crash, and the waitress screaming after America, “Not again! Not—“  


But it was too late. He was through the window, the one who’d thrown the punch; in a flurry of literal stars and stripes she went the whole hog with him through the glass, onto the sidewalk outside, and then she was on top of him, shaking, raising her fists.  


She was going to kill him.  


Kate vaulted through the broken glass after them, extra glad of her jeans and chucks today. Then she lunged for America’s arm, like a ticking time bomb of muscle and denim, and threw herself around it.  


“Don’t! America, don’t. Stop. Just stop, okay?”  


The man was only half conscious, but he was trembling in terror. His crotch was wet. He was peppered in glass, and tiny beads of blood covered his bare skin. Above him, America trembled as well, with her teeth bared and her eyes wild in a way Kate had never seen before. She was reminded of a spooked horse. All muscle and instinct. Every inch ready to kick out.  


But she didn’t throw the punch. Kate could feel her bicep twitching, her fist violently quaking as she slowly, slowly reined herself back in.  


She snatched her arm back from Kate. Didn’t look at her. Stood up and got out her wallet from inside her jacket. Threw a twenty onto the torso of the now passed out mobster. Then walked away. But not before having the last word.  


“He’s dragging you down _chica_. And you’re better than this.”


	2. Lilacs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate learns that America is not invincible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna leave this idea till later but then it went and wrote itself.

**Lilacs**

________

_Little bleeps and mechanical echoes, and the smell of bleach and other artificial cleaning solvents. A haze of grey light, through her closed eyelids. Pain, a little in the crook of her left arm, and a lot filling her head; and her mouth dry as attic dust._

_Voices, but not next to her. Away, passing by, all jumbled up and talking over each other, fading again. Heels clicking on hard floor, a phone ringing somewhere distant. And then another scent, faint but persistent over the chemicals. Familiar, and reassuring._

_Lilacs._

She came-to with a start. A big, urgent gasp of breath filled her lungs and then she sat up all at once, eyes wide and wild. Something started bleeping with keen intensity and she looked around rapidly. Nothing was familiar, but a fleeting second of common sense evaded her and she realised she was in a hospital. In a bed, and in a hospital. 

Except nothing made sense any more than anything looked familiar, and despite herself she began to panic. 

Until someone touched her arm. 

“Hey! Hey, sleeping beauty. Welcome back. It’s okay. Welcome back…” 

_Lilacs._

She was holding a coffee in a paper cup and wearing an oversized mauve fleece over skinny jeans, the kind you always bought two sizes too big to wear inside when autumn got too cold. Her raven-black hair looked like it hadn’t been touched in a week, but her eyes were bright, and there was a broad grin on her pale face like she’d just been given an unexpected gift. On the bedside table next to where she stood there was a vase full of small, pale purple flowers, a little wilted now. 

“Sorry, I went out for a coffee. But hey! You’re awake!” 

America felt a heavy weight sink into her chest and her shoulders sagged as the adrenalin from the moment of waking up quickly drained away. The sheer, bone-deep exhaustion she felt was harrowing. 

“Why am I here?” she croaked, and as soon as the first syllable was past her lips she regretted it; it felt like someone had thrown a lit match – or ten – down her throat. 

Kate frowned slightly, and sat back down on the same chair by America’s bed that she’d been sitting and sleeping in for the past two days now. They were in a private room. It was maybe an hour past dawn, and Kate had maybe slept half an hour all night, but she would let herself pay for that later. 

“You don’t remember?” 

She could see a quiver run down America’s hunched spine. She looked pale and uncomfortable and not much better than two days ago when Kate had called the ambulance. “Sure…” She seemed to say it with embarrassment, eyes cast down at her knees. 

Kate sipped her coffee. It smelt of slightly burnt milk and cinnamon, all comforting and familiar. She frowned a little harder. 

“You scared the shit out of me America.” 

America huffed, Kate’s tone was suddenly sharp, and reluctantly laid back down again. Her head was spinning. Her stomach felt like it was trying to swim up her throat and die. She was all at once too hot and too cold, exhausted but antsy, like her body didn’t know whether it wanted to fly a hundred-mile marathon or drop into a coma. 

“I can’t believe you brought me to the hospital. I told you I would be fine.” 

Kate stared at her incredulously. “Are you… are you actually kidding? _This_ ,” she waved a hand at the bed, at the IV drip and the monitors and at America’s pale face, “is not ‘fine’. If I’d been running a fever like that I’d be _dead_.” 

America lifted her arm, the one that wasn't threaded with tubes, and pinched the top of her broad nose. 

“Yeah? Well sucks to be you then.” 

Kate scoffed, and America closed her eyes. She felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a frost giant and then sprinted five laps around the earth’s orbit for shits and giggles. In fact, she’d done that once and she hadn't felt a fraction as bad the morning after that as she did now. Maybe the princess had a point, bringing her in… 

A warm hand touched her forehead gently. “Look. We can both be mad at each other later. Like, you have no idea how mad I've been at you for the past two days. But, we can deal later.” 

America cracked her eyes open again and saw Kate leaning on the edge of the bed, by her arm, her chin nestled in the crook of her own arm as she stroked America’s cheek with the backs of her calloused fingers. 

“You really scared me…” 

America saw little tears spring up in her eyes. 

“Without trying to sound like a superhero cliché here… I really have lost enough people in my life already.” 

America blew a long breath through her nose. “Shit… Kate, I’m sorry.” 

Wanly, Kate smiled. “It’s just… none of us ever thought. Never really thought you could be touched. You know.” 

America frowned a little. “I’m not a god Kate.” 

At this, Kate couldn’t help a small, barky laugh. “Could’a fooled us. I think even Loki was convinced at one point.” 

“Yeah well that little turd don’t know his ass from his head, does he.” 

Kate smiled again, a small but warm smile. Her eyes shone and America lifted her hand gingerly, to wipe her damp lashes with her thumb. 

“You should go home and sleep, you look like shit.” 

Kate snorted, and then sighed and closed her eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m still mad at you.” 

America huffed, but Kate wove her hand into hers, and settled. A moment later, she was asleep. A minute after America joined her.


	3. Coffee-ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is the suckiest time of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked this prompt, and the idea it gave me for a conversation.

**Coffee-ghosts**

________ 

“The hell is that?” 

Kate sat down with a soft _whump_ into the over-stuffed couch, dropping half a dozen bags from her arms and blowing out a long-held sigh of relief. She quipped an eyebrow at America. 

“Is what?” 

“That.” America pointed at the plastic cup Kate was gripping almost defensively, as it dripped with condensation and bits of melting whipped cream and strawberry sauce. Her name was scrawled on the side in black marker and almost illegible hand writing. 

“Um, a Frappuccino? What are you like, too AU to know what a strawberries and cream Frappuccino is?” 

America glowered, but Kate smirked and tossed her hair out of her face, tucking bits of it behind her ears. She was wearing little silver stud earrings shaped like arrows. Cute, America mulled, despite herself. 

“It looks cold.” 

“Uh huh. True that.” 

“It’s like, two weeks before Christmas. It’s cold enough to freeze Santa’s sack off and you’re drinking liquefied desserts in a coffee shop?” 

Kate leaned back in the couch and slurped nosily through her straw. “How’s that filter coffee treating you? Like royalty I hope.” 

America leaned back with her. The place was actually eerily quiet, as outside hordes of people swarmed frantically from store front to store front, shopping like it was do or die. Faces grim and grey in the cold, hundreds of pairs of eyes lost and searching through an endless sea of things they could not afford. 

“I hate this time of year,” America muttered. Although her face was concentrated in a dark frown she said it quietly, almost sadly. 

Kate tilted her head at her. “Yeah. Yeah it’s the worst.” 

America raised an eyebrow back. “Huh. Never took you to be a hating-the-holiday-season kinda person.” She looked pointedly down at the mountain of bags surrounding Kate’s ankles, and Kate smiled sheepishly. 

“No peaking.” 

For that, she got a small smile from America. 

“But yeah, Christmas is emphatically the worst,” Kate continued. “It’s a lot of pressure on everyone. A lot of… memories to relive, sometimes. Reminders of things we’d rather not be thinking about. All that garbage.” 

America cradled her coffee to her lips, let the steam burn her nose a little as she listened. She sipped and relished the shitty burnt caffeine taste, and tried to tune out the people passing dourly outside. 

“Your dad?” 

Kate sighed. She turned a bit so she was facing America better. Her knee bumped the other girl’s, and she left it there. Touching just slightly. America didn’t move it. 

“Sure. But there’s always something with him. That’s like, a 365 day deal. This time of year, it’s more about missing people, I guess. Friends, that I’ve lost…” 

She faded off. What had it been, an eternity? Two years, really. And she still dreamed about it like it had happened yesterday. 

“Teddy mentioned her once, to me,” America picked up from her slowly, carefully. “He said she had a way with people. He even bet, that if we’d gotten to meet she’d have had me sharing my life story in five minutes, tops.” 

Kate stared at her hands and bit her lip; she smiled at the concept, of America and Cassie shooting the breeze together, and she felt the choke of tears and the thrum of her heart as she relived the moment, for the thousandth time saw it all happening again, her friend, her best friend, dead; and she was just a kid, they’re still all just kids, really— 

“Hey…” Kate flinched, but America was rubbing her knee gently and looking at her with open concern. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it. I just… I get it. I get what it’s like being without someone.” 

Kate picked at the plastic brim on her cup with her thumbnail. “Did you have Christmas, growing up where you came from? Is that a total white-girl question to ask?” 

America smiled a little. “Not Christmas, no. But birthdays and anniversaries, and festivals. Maybe they had an annual celebration, after… I guess after my moms saved the parallel. Maybe not. I left. I’ll never know.” 

“David mentioned your moms…” 

“They died a long time ago. For something I didn’t even want. Christmas, it’s a good time for people to be together. It’s the worst if those people are gone.” 

They sat in a quiet that was not uncomfortable, but was sombre. America watched the steam rise from her coffee and thought of ghosts and wondered for the infinite time why she still did not feel the guilt she knew she should, about running away from everything her moms died to give her. Kate thought about Cassie. And about how unfair death was sometimes. 

The front door to the shop burst open. Cold air and a drizzle of rain poured in, and America twisted round as it was followed in by a bumbling commotion, a man in a Santa suit and oversized black boots, huffing and grunting. 

“Damn near frozen my sack off, standing on that fucking corner out there…” he muttered, and then winked at the girls before joining the queue. 

America turned back to Kate, her eyebrows almost in her hair. Kate looked like she was ready to burst laughing. 

America leaned back again in the couch, lifted her legs and draped them over Kate’s lap. Kate went all interesting shades of red. 

“Actually, this time of year rocks.”


End file.
